Page 109 of Unholy Masks

I laughed, leaning in, my toe tracing up his leg. His body reacted before his brain could catch up. His eyes turned dangerously stormy.

“When I get you alone,” I whispered, “I’m going to make sure you forget how to breathe.”

“Hush, Red,” he murmured, voice rough. It slid down my spine and settled right between my legs.

The way he looked at me, like he was one second away from pinning me to the nearest surface and taking me, made my head spin.

“Oh my God,” Irene cut in. “Are you two seriously doing this in front of us?”

I startled, turning to her. She sat there, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touched her hairline.

“Oh please, do continue,” she said, eyes flickering between Ryden and me. “Don’t stop on account of us. Of course, we would be scarred for life, but why do you care?”

Enzo let out a choked laugh.

Ryden didn’t even glance her way. His gaze stayed glued to me. Predatory. Possessive. Like he’d forgotten the rest of the world.

When Ryden turned to say something to Enzo, Irene leaned in, her voice low.

“You know,” she whispered, “you should just marry the guy.”

“Irene—”

“Oh, say whatever you want, but I know you,” she whispered with a huff. “You look at him like you’d happily set yourself on fire if he asked you nicely.” She smiled.

“I don’t know.”

“You know,” she said. “You knew it from the first moment you met him.”

Maybe I did know!

We sat there and talked until midnight. I didn’t have the heart to move. None of us did.

In this dark pocket of time, the world was happy, smiling, peaceful. There was no stench of blood. No screaming demons.

I didn’t want to disrupt this little slice of home. This was my family. Odd, messy, broken, and not easy at all, but it was mine. All mine, when once I had believed I would forever be alone.

I’d protect them with all my heart.

If this broke, I would too.

Ryden and I drove home just before dawn. He handed me a brown envelope when we stepped out of the car.

“Thatcher received this from the killer.”

“So he was waiting for the news, and when nothing came, he made it happen?” I asked.

“He’s starting to crave attention.”

“Maybe he’s not as smart as we thought,” I said, staring at the note. It was fast, urgent, angry. He was furious that no one was talking about him, his victims.

“Did you check it for prints?”

“Thatcher said he did. There were none.”

“We’ll check again,” I said. “I also got the report on the bible verse that was inside Sister Serena. It was from an old Bible. I think she took it from the chapel.”

“The orphanage chapel?”